


instead of going under

by Lua



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, M/M, Post-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Unbeta'd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-27
Updated: 2017-12-27
Packaged: 2019-02-22 09:19:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13163928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lua/pseuds/Lua
Summary: Stiles was tired of the war and he wanted to go back home. He didn't expect that Peter would be the one that would make him feel better.[steter secret santa - 2017]





	instead of going under

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LordOfThePies88](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LordOfThePies88/gifts).



> i hope you had a lovely christmas and that you’ll have an amazing new years!

The war changed almost everything.

After the Wild Hunt, Stiles wanted to leave, but not like this. Not for recruiting. The war changed too much, but it didn’t change Scott. Stiles still thought about leaving every day. He didn’t like Los Angeles. He didn’t like any of their stops.

Stiles hated recruiting.

It was a Thursday and he was driving on a road outside Canaan when the thought of just ditching everyone and driving home first crossed his mind. It didn’t really matter that it was Thursday. It had been two months since he had been to Beacon Hills and he just drove by the last time. He needed to see his father then; it was a condition he refused to let go. His father had to be safe and he had to be sure.

Peter sent updates about the city and, sometimes, that included the Sheriff. It was his punishment, sentenced by Scott himself in the ways of the merciful. Stiles now thought that protecting Beacon Hills was much better than recruiting but his crimes were never that serious. He heard the stories. Everyone heard them.

The newcomers looked at him like he was something to be feared. They had no idea what he could do but he never showed them a reason to act like that. He held a tight grip on the darkness around his heart and when it whispered to him, he pretended to be deaf. Yet, the newbies feared him. It was all in the stories. He hated them.

He told Lydia he hated them. Lydia was still hopeful that Scott’s way was justified enough. She was afraid.  She could hear too much, she could see too much, and Stiles didn’t understand but if he could just let Scott lead, she was sure it would work out. Stiles did let Scott lead. That was how they got here.

On that Thursday, it felt like Beacon Hills was calling to him. Stiles wanted to see his father, he didn’t want to pick up another runway kid and the sign indicating Beacon Hills was just a few miles away made him dizzy.

He messaged Peter. Peter was his only certainty that his father was alright. Beacon Hills was a hellhole and he left his father behind. Nowhere was safe but Beacon Hills was worse.

For a moment, Stiles caught himself wondering if Peter was lonely carrying out his punishment. They trusted Peter so much, they trusted Peter not to die while they were all out there after little soldiers.

Stiles wanted to drive back home and get away from everything, from the war, from Scott-the-leader and his people. He didn’t like the way things were shaping up to be. He didn’t like the way the story was shaping them up to be.

Stiles was unhappy.

He stopped his car in the middle of the road and considered his options. He wanted to drive back to Beacon Hills; there was a pressing urge to go back building up in him.

Yeah, it was what he needs to do. He just knew it and, so he did it. He turned around in the next intersection and drove back home.

In a panicked move, he ignored the missed calls and texts, knowing all too well it was a dick move. They were at war, he could be dead or wounded, he knew it, but he still didn’t answer his phone. He didn’t want to be part of any of it for now, but he was in too deep and he didn’t really know what to do about it. He just needed to go home.

He gave up on the silent treatment and answered Malia’s call when he crossed into city limits. She was pissed at him for not answering.

“I needed time to think,” he said as if that was enough of an excuse to actually explain away what he did. He couldn’t tell her Beacon Hills was calling to him; he knew that was no explanation either.

Now that he was back in Beacon Hills, he felt like he was doing the right thing for the first time in too long.

On the phone, he heard what he was very sure was a growl.

“You’re such a dick,” she accused. “You and Peter deserve each other.”

Stiles didn’t apologize and Malia didn’t wait on the line for an apology. He threw his phone on the passenger’s seat and drove to the station to go find his dad before anything else. Stiles didn’t know why she thought he was going to see Peter. Maybe it was because he ran away to Beacon Hills and that was Peter’s territory now.

His father was happy to see him but concerned that Stiles was back out of the blue. He got calls from Scott before Stiles arrived and that made Stiles bitter. He knew Stiles ditched the pack to be here.

“I just missed being home,” he reassured his dad, but the Sheriff seemed unconvinced.

“What you’re doing is important, too. I understand that you need to be gone.”

Stiles didn’t want to argue. He was tired of arguing. The war had made him tired.

“I won’t stay for long,” Stiles said as if that was agreement.

Outside the station, he stopped and wondered about going to see Peter, maybe get an update on what had been happening in Beacon Hills. He texted him again, asked where he is, asked if they can meet. Truth be told, he didn’t even know if Peter was alive and well. They weren’t friends, but Peter was on their side and that was as good as it got these days.

Peter didn’t ask what was wrong and that made Stiles thankful. “You better not be bringing anything that requires cleaning after,” he told Stiles instead, as if Stiles made a habit of showing up at Peter’s doorsteps with a body.

Five minutes later he ended up agreeing to meet with Stiles at the dinner near the station, but he only showed up half an hour later dressed to impress someone that surely wasn’t Stiles. At least two people got up and left the dinner as soon as they noticed Peter and Stiles had no doubt they knew what Peter was; he had no doubts they were once recruited by Monroe. Peter made a show of playing dumb, but Stiles knew him better than that; Peter was good at surviving, after all.

They sat across from each other and Peter smirked at him.

“Aren’t you too old to be running away?”

“You knew I was coming?” Stiles asked.

“Malia called to ask if I knew where you were. You freaked them out when you didn’t show up.”

Stiles didn’t want to explain the urge he felt to drive home. The owner watched them and made Stiles uncomfortable.

They sat there in silence. Peter arched an eyebrow at Stiles, waiting. The minutes seemed to stretch themselves.

“I’m tired of Scott’s war,” he finally blurted out.

“Scott’s war, huh?”

He didn’t elaborate; Peter could understand that as he pleased.

Stiles glanced at the counter. He had ordered a portion of curly fries, but now he was regretting it. He just wanted to go away; this place made was making him uncomfortable. He didn’t know how Peter dealt with it.

“Can I stay at your place?” he asked Peter without an introduction leading to it He just wanted to go. He felt tired.  “My father thinks I’m driving back to recruit.” Peter watched him in silence. “Peter?”

“Everyone seemed to think you had a foot on the door for quite some time, Stiles,” Peter made a pause. “Yes, you can stay with me.”

Stiles didn’t answer this time, didn’t say thank you and didn’t offer an explanation for his behavior. He didn’t have one himself. He needed to get away from everything, he needed to know his father was alright. He needed to see that for himself. He needed to be back.

Anyone would tell him he was just homesick if he tried to say he felt that he needed to be in Beacon Hills tonight, so he decided to keep that to himself. If they already thought he would bail… He wondered if that was just Peter’s take on the situation. It didn’t matter; the truth was that he wanted to leave.

Stiles sighed. He got up, paid for the fries and didn’t wait for it. He was suddenly exhausted. Peter followed him closely behind and, in the end, he followed Peter on his car to his apartment. It was the first time he’d been to Peter’s apartment.

Peter led the way in, asking questions of “the front” that Stiles answered with short statements and I don’t knows. He didn’t want to talk about the war.

“I hope you’ll be happy with the couch,” Peter told him when they were finally inside. The couch didn’t look particularly comfortable, but Stiles would take it anyway.

Stiles sat down on the couch and for a moment he felt lost. He had no idea what he was doing in Beacon Hills. He should be driving back. His father was fine and what was the point in turning this into a casual visit to Peter of all people? He was going crazy. The war was driving him insane bit by bit.

He stared at the carpet.

“Do you have anything to drink?” he suddenly asked Peter, still watching his carpet. “Alcoholic.”

“Your best friend is a werewolf. You dated a werecoyote. I’d think you’d know alcohol doesn’t have the same effect on us.”

“Yes or no.”

“No.”

 “I figured you’d be the sort of person who drinks for the taste,” Stiles said and wrinkled his nose.

Peter rolled his eyes in that very Hale way and disappeared into the kitchen. Stiles wished he’d have a bottle of even the cheapest whiskey to take his mind off things.

He listened to the noise from the kitchen for a few seconds before sighing and taking his shoes off. The carpet was very soft and, for some time, he enjoyed brushing his feet against it and making random patterns appear on it.

“Thanks for keeping an eye on my dad,” Stiles said from his place on the couch.

Peter didn’t reply, but Stiles was sure he heard it. Stiles got up and followed Peter into the kitchen. The smell of coffee started filling the place.  

“I know what’s like to want to keep your family safe,” Peter finally said when Stiles appeared on the kitchen’s doorway.

They wait for the coffee in silence. Stiles checked his phone and sure as hell Scott had texted him. He didn’t read it.

He didn’t want to think about it.

Tomorrow, when he would be back with the pack, he’d think about it and meet whoever they rescued and answer their questions because yes, he was possessed by an evil spirit, but he was better now and that much was true. Tomorrow he would think about the war. He sighed and wished for a distraction.

When the coffee was ready, and Peter handed him his mug, Stiles ended up noticing that Peter’s mugs were part of a set. It wasn’t something he expected to learn.

“I heard the tales of Beacon Hills,” Peter commented.

Stiles snorted. It sounded incredibly funny to him, but he didn’t know why.

“To the tales of Beacon Hills and their author,” he said and raised his mug.

“May they win the war,” Peter added, raising his own mug, too.

He didn’t tell Peter how he hated the story and what it made of him and Peter didn’t tell him what he really thought of it, neither of them bothering asking the other. They were all people that were better now but that would forever be tainted in that story, redeemed but not redeemed enough.

Stiles closed his eyes tightly and breathed in deeply. He felt dizzy. He put the mug on the table, sure that he would drop it if he kept holding it.

He put a hand on a wall to steady himself.

"We're losing the war," he said as if it explained everything.

The kitchen seemed to tilt in its axis and for a moment Stiles thought he would fall. Peter’s voice sounded like a distant echo.

“Stiles.” Someone was holding him. Peter. He couldn’t breathe. “Stiles. Breathe.”

They were losing because they didn’t kill while Monroe wouldn’t hesitate. It was stupid. It was unfair to the people they were sending out to kill and be killed. There wasn’t enough air in the kitchen. Everything smelled like coffee, it was suffocating.

He felt like he was falling again. He tried to grab Peter’s arms which, in turn, made Peter tightened his hold on his shoulders. Stiles felt disoriented. There was a pressure building behind his eyes that made it hard to think.

“Breathe,” Peter repeated, and Stiles tried. His lungs were burning but he was breathing. “That’s good.”

He kept his eyes closed tightly.

“They believe in Scott,” Stiles said in a whisper.

A few seconds passed before Peter wrapped his arms around him and pulled Stiles against his chest. Stiles let him, just resting his weight against Peter. He was warm and comforting.  He hid his face on the curve of Peter’s neck.

He pressed his noses against Peter’s skin and breathed in.

He couldn’t believe he was crumbling in front of Peter Hale of all people. There was so much wrong with this picture. He wasn’t giving up, he didn’t know why he was hiding, why he was trusting Peter with this moment. It suddenly became too much. 

needed to be home.

Peter was the closest thing to home in the current configuration of his world. Stiles felt his knees go weak. Peter was the last saving point, the last beacon of normalcy just because he was left behind. Not like his father. Peter didn’t believe in Scott, never had, never would. Peter could see the ugliness of what they were doing without the blinding hope that they would win because they were better.

Stiles was so tired. He remembered Malia’s accusation.

He pushed Peter away and Peter let him, taking a step back and dropping his arms to the side of his body. Stiles watched him, full of suspicion.

“Did you tell people I was spending the night with you?”

“How could I? I didn’t know you were in town until you texted me.”

Stiles didn’t know if he believed Peter.

“Malia said something.”

“They seem to have this idea that I’m a corruptive influence,” Peter said and rolled his eyes. “Obviously you’d come to me if you were on the run.”

He didn’t reply. Peter waited a couple minutes before going back to his coffee. Stiles abandoned his own on the table.

He sighed and looked away. Neither of them wanted to talk about what just happened, they don’t want to discuss things honestly. Stiles didn’t even know if he could.

“I’m not running away,” he caught himself saying when the silence stretched for too long. “Not forever.”

He stopped and rubbed his face, annoyed. He ended up running his hand through his hair.

“No one is accusing you of anything.”

But Malia was. And everyone else…

Stiles rubbed his hand against his hair this time, messing it up.

“Goddamnit. I… I just needed to come home, okay?” he waved his hand to generically indicate the place. “I needed to think. And my dad, I needed to be sure he was okay. Fuck, this isn’t right. Nothing is right,” he paused and stared at his mug. The coffee was probably cold now. “I needed to come home.”

“Stiles, I’m not kicking you out,” Peter said in a gentle voice that Stiles didn’t expect from him.

He nodded, slowly, and covered his face with his hands. After some time, he heard Peter starting to wash the mugs.

“You should talk to Scott,” Peter told him when he was done. He reached out and touched Stiles’ wrists, making him lower his hands. “Let’s get you to bed.”

Stiles nodded and followed him. He stood uselessly in the living room while Peter made a bed out of the couch. Stiles felt tired but awake at the same time and, still, he let Peter pull him to the couch and put him to bed. He was embarrassed by his own confused state.

For a moment, Stiles thought Peter planned to tuck him in. For all that the day was being absurd, he drew the line at that and refused to lie down.

He looked at Peter. Peter sat down next to him on the couch, on top of all the blankets. The thought of being kissed goodnight crossed his mind and he felt ridiculous.

“I’d hate to see you drive yourself crazy trying to make sense of Scott’s strategies, Stiles. I always thought you were the smart one.”

Stiles laughed.

“Are you trying to give me a pep talk?”

“You seem in need of one.”

Stiles smiled at Peter.

“What happened to the big bad wolf?”

Peter smiled back at him.

“Would you rather I ate you up? I like you, Stiles. I want to see you whole.”

Stiles stared at him for a moment, turning the words over in his head. It was an impulse that had him leaning in and pressing his lips against Peter’s. He didn’t close his eyes, but neither did Peter.

He sat back and glanced away for a second before looking at Peter again. He was sure that Peter could’ve avoided the contact if he wanted to.

They looked at each other. He put his hand on Peter’s knee, using it as support to move closer.

“Peter.”

“Stiles.”

“Kiss me.”

Stiles noticed when Peter still hesitated before closing the distance between them and kissing Stiles. This time, the kiss wasn’t chaste, it wasn’t just lips pressed against lips. This time they closed their eyes and there was tongue demanding to be let in and caressing the other’s tongue and Stiles’ teeth dragged on Peter’s lower lip followed by his lips. He sucked on Peter’s bottom lip and, still, Peter hesitated. Stiles pulled back.

Peter reached out and touched Stiles’ cheek with his fingertips. His fingers barely touched his skin. It was very gentle, Stiles never thought of Peter as a gentle person. Peter moved his hand, letting his fingertips brush over Stiles’ ear and on his neck on their way to the back of Stiles’ neck.

Peter pulled Stiles closed again, but not for another kiss. Stiles sighed.

Stiles pressed his forehead against Peter’s and closed his eyes. Peter slowly caressed the back of his neck, playing with his hair. He wondered if he was having a mental breakdown in Peter’s living room.

“Maybe another time,” Peter told him, and Stiles barely even nodded, not wanting to move away.

The night had become a mess since he decided to drive home. He felt guilty, he felt like should go. People were waiting for him, he was being…he didn’t even know what he was being. Overbearing, surely. Embarrassing? Stiles tried to pull away, but Peter slid his hand to Stiles’ shoulder and refused to let go.

Stiles opened his eyes and held Peter’s gaze. He wondered what was Peter’s angle in all of this, what he could possibly gain from Stiles’ freak out. Stiles had been listening to the stories. He wasn’t used to Peter anymore.

The stories would never allow them to sit on the couch with Peter playing with his hair to keep him calm. The stories wouldn’t allow them to kiss. They were not the people in the stories, Scott was wrong.

He thought about kissing Peter again. The timing wasn’t right; maybe another time, maybe in another visit. He covered Peter’s hand with his own.

“Another time,” he promised.

This time, Peter nodded. Stiles entwined his fingers with Peter’s, keeping Peter’s hand on his shoulder, under his own.

“Tell me about how the town is holding up,” he asked Peter.

Despite sending them frequent updates about what was going on Beacon Hills, Peter told him anyway. He didn’t ask questions, didn’t advice Stiles anymore, didn’t try to comfort him any further. He talked and talked, and Stiles slowly started to relax. Those problems, protecting the town and figuring things out, it felt like home. Stiles missed it. For a moment, he even missed Peter and everything that came with him.

Peter just talked about he had been dealing with – interrupted by Stiles trying to guess how the situations were solved before he was told about it – until Stiles started yawning.

Peter squeezed Stiles’ shoulder and got up. He leaned down and kissed the top of Stiles’ head.

“I’m going to bed,” he announced.

Stiles smiled a bit. Tonight, he was thankful for Peter and his avoidance of what was most likely useless information to him.  He just let Stiles be, he gave him room to break down and now he was giving him room to rest. Maybe tomorrow he would probe and try to fish for details and answers, but tomorrow Stiles would be ready.

He lied down and watched as Peter moved away from the couch to get the lights. The couch wasn’t as uncomfortable as it could’ve been, Peter had made sure he would be as comfortable as possible on his couch for the night. The blankets helped. The thoughtfulness surprised him, although he didn’t know why.

Peter switched the lights off. Stiles knew that he could still see him in the dark living room, Stiles could only see his shape when his eyes adjusted.

Stiles closed his eyes. Tomorrow everything would go back to normal.

“Good night, Stiles,” Peter said.

“Maybe I should stay here.”

“You don’t mean that.”

“I don’t.”

Tomorrow he would go back, and Peter would become a reminder of home. Tomorrow he still needed to talk to Scott, he needed to go back and act like none of this ever happened. Like Beacon Hills didn’t call to him and like he didn’t want to hide in Peter’s arms just a little longer. It would be fine. He would go back, but he was starting to feel better.

Stiles yawned.

“You’re welcome to come back sometimes,” Peter said before finally moving from his spot next to the light switch. “Now rest.”

That could be nice, they’d have to see what would happen. He never expected Peter to be his safehouse but here they were, and it sounded nice. Pleasant, even. The idea of coming back to Peter again, without running away, seemed like a good one.

Stiles smiled. They would tell no stories about how Peter helped him when he ran back home but he didn't mind it. Although he would rather hear about that than the tales of war, it was good to know he was more than the stories. That they both were.

“Good night, Peter.”

He’d have to come back and see what happen next for himself.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading it!!
> 
> i hope it was something enjoyable to read, although it wasn't very christmas-y  
> the title comes from the song in too deep by sum 41


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